


Spirit of Fire

by StarsOverTheEast



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsOverTheEast/pseuds/StarsOverTheEast
Summary: “Just as you are given life through the Flame Imperishable by The One, it is your inner fire that is your tool of creation,” Aulë tells him. “And it is when our flames are moved to great emotion that we create our most grand works.”-Fëanor crafts the Silmarils.





	Spirit of Fire

He is young when they first begin to teach him. 

The power and knowledge of the Ainur, that which is good for the elves to know. How to call to one another with the mind. How to sing to the trees and hasten their fruit. How to place their thought into objects to bend them to their wills and follow instruction.

He learns it all. 

A blessed elf, they call him, a quick learner. Fëanor, son of Finwë, most worthy of the Noldor. 

Like unto a Ainu himself, with a fire as hot with song as any they themselves posses. Cunning and wise and crafty beyond all others. 

It is in the Halls of Aulë that he learns his favourite craft. Studies under the hand of Mahtan. Works beside the maiar of the forge. Speaks to the Lord of Craft himself. 

“Just as you are given life through the Flame Imperishable by The One, it is your inner fire that is your tool of creation,” Aulë tells him. “And it is when our flames are moved to great emotion that we create our most grand works.”

It is upon his marriage to Nerdanel that he first feels such emotion. The joy of taking her hand, of feeling her mind touch his and their souls beat as one. She is beautiful, more beautiful than the very Trees themselves under whose mingling light they share their first kiss as a couple. 

And thus it is her smile that he pictures when he crushes the crystal in his hand and enchants the dust to hold the light of her eyes. 

It is the birth of his first son that gives his fire its second blaze. 

Maedhros. Perfect and at peace in his arms and Fëanor thinks his heart might burst for joy when the babe looks at him and smiles. His greatest creation, Nerdanel jokes.

And when Fëanor hangs pearls charmed with the song of the sea over the sleeping child’s head, he has to agree. 

And so they come quickly then, the sons of Fëanor.

Maglor, the singer. Celegorm, the hunter. Caranthir, the cunning, Curufin, the crafty. Amrod and Amras, the treasured. 

His fire is stroked with each one. A new creation for each new joy. 

Shells that hold the sound of music. Creatures on string that have no life of their own but are given such by talented fingers. Jewels that shift color against the fabric of their owner’s raiment. And flickers of fire that die with the light, and live with the dark. 

And yet he can do more. 

It is Silima that he names his new creation. Born of crystals and tears, and the light of the trees and the flickering of his own fire. Crafted at the mingling when he holds his enchanted dust to the light and remembers the blaze of his heart and the trees cannot help but bend towards the warmth. 

And it is under their branches that he summons the memories, the strokings of his flame.

The warmth of Nerdanel’s hand on his. 

Drip. 

The laughter of Maedhros as he spins him about.

Drop.

The music of Maglor’s first song. 

Drip. 

The thrill of Celeborn’s first hunt. 

Drop.

The weight of Caranthir in his arms. 

Drip. 

The glow of Curufin’s face as he works the forge. 

Drop.

The smiles of Amrod and Amras as he spins the about. 

Drip drop.

Each memory an anchor. Each spark a call. 

Into his hands it falls, the light of the trees. Into a fire that sears and binds and with its energy makes eternal the blend of the two trees. 

His soul and memories made eternal. 

His greatest creation. 

And the fate of Arda.

**Author's Note:**

> I know he got his idea from the hair of Galadriel but I've had this idea in mind for a while and wanted to try and write it out.


End file.
